


What If: A Series of Ficlets and Drabbles

by SevenBetter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Ben hates junk food, Can you name any other foods that are also hexagons, Drabbles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Rey has a healthy respect for it, Smut, This Drabble collection will have it all folks, This is my Ode to the Crunchwrap Supreme, This is the dumping ground for anything I dream up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:19:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevenBetter/pseuds/SevenBetter
Summary: The "Miscellaneous" section of my Reylo mind palace, basically.Mostly AUs, some canonverse, all one chapter....Okay let's be real, maybe a few will end up with a second chapter.Thanks for reading :) Feedback is always welcome!
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 25
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm not eating that." Ben says resolutely, as soon as Rey takes it out of the paper sleeve. She squints over at him, the dim orange hue of the parking lot light making him hard to see. She can hear the disgust in his voice, though, so she doesn't really need to see him to recognize it. 

She glances back at what's in her hand, frowning, and mutters, "Why not?"

"It's shaped like a hexagon." He says, like it's the most obvious reason in the world. "Food should not look like a complex polygon."

Rey shrugs, "I don't know why you're so concerned. There are other foods shaped like hexagons."

"Like what?" He challenges.

"Like..." she wracks her brain, "like honeycomb! Bees make it. Couldn't be more natural if it tried."

"Bees also build their homes out of their own vomit, so I'm not sure they should be an authority on what we consider food."

Rey slides her jaw side to side. "I don't see why you're backing out now. We talked about it, you looked up the ingredients on the website, you talked to Poe about it."

"Yes, well, when finally faced with one's enemy, a flagging sense of bravery is often the result."

"Ok, Lord Byron." She's out of arguments, but then, suddenly, "Crispix! That's hexagonal! And you love it. That's just like thi-"

"Don't you dare take the holy name of Crispix in vain." Ben says, turning fully towards her in the car, looking deadly serious. "No food, let alone one from a fast food restaurant, ought to be compared to that blessed cereal."

"Fine. To address your previous point, Ben, a Crunchwrap Supreme is not your enemy. Taco Bell is not your enemy. Taco Bell is your friend. It is half the reason I could afford to stay in school, continue to live in this city, and eventually meet you. You should be grateful to Taco Bell."

"I can be grateful to them in a distant way. I don't have to eat their food." 

"This food was the cornerstone of my senior year! An integral part of who I am! And as I recall, you have before said that you love every part of me, so that includes this."

It's Ben's turn to roll his eyes. 

"Look," Rey begins, "I won't force you to eat it. But after you took me to that sandwich place, I thought it might be fun if we did my version of that. And this is it. So try it only if you want, but do it soon, because it's gonna get cold, and I will not let that happen. I'll eat it myself. The only thing worse than insulting the Crunch is wasting the Crunch."

Ben swallows hard, and Rey glances back at the soft, folded tortilla she proffers, radiating warmth. She thinks of the nacho cheese and how it blends with the refried beans, the fresh, crisp bite of tomato and lettuce, the zing on her tongue with each bite because she douses hers in diablo sauce before even taking the first nibble.

She gets that Ben was raised in wealth, they could afford all organic everything. She gets that he's very careful with his diet, and due to the resulting shape of his abs, she's grateful. She's seen him eat right out of a bag of spinach while they watch TV, like the leaves are chips. And he likes it.

He's _insane._

But he needs to loosen up sometimes. She doesn't need him to start pounding pork crackling or mainlining Diet Pepsi, but a late-night Taco Bell run is sentimental for her, and she wants to share it with him. She wants him to enjoy it.

He must sense these thoughts through her skull, because he huffs a small breath out of his nostrils, the same way he always does at the starting line of a marathon, and reaches out for Rey's hand.

They meet in the middle, hands over the console, and he takes it gently, almost gingerly, like it's a newborn baby or a precious ancient gem.

Rey knows it to be more valuable than either of those things.

His hand is wider than the shape of the tortilla. He looks a little ridiculous holding it, staring at it with wide eyes like it's an alien creature, and Rey struggles to stifle her laughter. 

"Here goes," he breathes into the darkness, and opens wide, taking a sizeable bite and chewing for a long moment. She watches his face, but when he wants to, he can be mask-like. She can't suss out his reaction.

He swallows it, which she supposes is a good start, and then he seems to gather his thoughts before he mumbles, sternly, "It's...not that bad."

"Yes!" Rey cries in victory, throwing her arms over her head and smacking one into the roof of the car. 

"I kind of like the mix of textures." He adds generously, and Rey wiggles in her seat, doing a little dance as he smirks. He takes one more bite, making a "hmmm" noise as he chews, and then reaches back towards Rey. "You can have the rest. Can I eat my bean and cheese burrito now?"

Rey smiles, "My boyfriend, the simpleton." 

"I resent that." He digs around in the brown bag for his order, which looks even tinier in his giant hand, and Rey giggles through a mouthful of Crunchwrap. 

They sit in companionable silence for a long moment, Ben reaching across with his free hand and holding Rey's knee. Rey cover his hand with hers and intertwines their fingers, watches the cars dart in and out of the busy intersection before them. 

Ben polishes off his last bite and reaches for the bottle of water he always keeps in his cup holder.

Rey darts out a hand to stop him. "Try one sip of the Baja Blast freezie."

"Wha- It's literally frozen sugar water!"

She fights her smile, and gears up to dismantle his next set of arguments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I saw the trailer for TROS in theaters last night and seeing it on a big screen, I cried. 
> 
> Like, I openly wept. And there were only six other people in the theater, and we were all hyper-aware of each other, so someone definitely noticed. 
> 
> Anywhom, here's another AU drabble. Look out for both fics to update soon as well :)

Rey walks into Nordstrom armed with two things:

1\. A fabric swatch, and   
2\. A streak of determination so fierce it could only borne of a shopping trip that _must_ be completed in one day.

Jessika gave her bridesmaids limited stipulations for their dresses. Nude/blush pink, and nothing shorter than knee-length. Phasma, of course, immediately found a vintage sheath dress in dusty rose, sleeveless with a high neck and a perfect, sleek column of fabric dropping all the way to her ankles. 

Then Rose came across some gorgeous strapless number on clearance at a local boutique, then Kaydel borrowed her cousin's dress from an earlier wedding and soon...Rey was the last one.

The wedding is next weekend. She has no other choice but to find her dress, and some nude shoes, today. 

It's not like she hasn't tried, but ever since-

Well, ever since she started living alone, and had the full rent to pay, the budget's been tight. She took on a side gig bookkeeping for her boss's wife's catering business. They very respectfully didn't ask why she suddenly had a change of heart after months of his good-natured wheedling for her to take the job. 

The shoes are on the first floor, so she decides to take care of that first. She's always been a practical person, so she bypasses the crystal faceted pumps and strappy stilettos, and heads straight for the sale section. 

She emerges twenty minutes later holding peach leather wedges, with a modest two-and-a-half inch heel, after politely rebuffing the efforts of a clerk determined to steer her towards more ornate -and more expensive- pairs. 

She makes her way through the terrifying, odorous hellscape of the perfume section then squints at the overhead sign, spying the "FORMALWEAR-WOMEN'S" next to the number 3. 

She boards the escalator and looks down, picking at her fingernails and wondering if Kaydel needs any last minute help with the bachelorette party. Not that Rey has the time to assist, but still...she should offer.

She's ascended far enough above the first floor that the air starts to lose its florid aroma when she hears a very familiar sound. Of someone, clearing their throat.

Of _him_ clearing his throat.

Her eyes dart up, and take in a face she thought she would never see again. 

Ben. And he looks _awful_. 

Even paler than normal, hair wild, dark circles under his eyes. She compares that to the crystalline memory of when they met, at the first community softball practice.

Glowing, hair shining in the ochre of twilight, arm muscles pulling the sleeves of his soft green t-shirt taut. He had a rare but wide smile, an incredibly intense gaze when he stood on the pitcher's mound, and a slow, lethal grace in the way he moved.

Rey was riveted. And so was he, but he was better at hiding it. It took the entire season for her to figure out how he felt. It was their last game when he hung back to help her pack the equipment, kissing her in the dark recesses of the dugout. His neck was a little gritty from the dirt when she leaned down to suck marks into it.

He's scarcely that same man, now. He looks smaller, not just his physique having changed, but his whole...being, somehow.

"Ben?" She says, too stunned to keep quiet, and his dark eyes look away from his phone, latch onto her, widen in shock. Rey's heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts.

They both stay silent as they pass one another, her up and him down. They both stare, until they thankfully notice they're nearing the exit of their respective escalators and step off. 

A floor above, Rey sees him hesitate, looking up at her still.

Normally she would scowl and walk the other way. Normally she would radiate 'fuck you' with every fibre of her being, channeling to him images of how callously he ended their relationship, how he ignored her completely as she begged for answers, then as she packed up, and finally, as she left.

But there's something about his gauntness that gives her pause. It tells her that there's something bigger than the two of them going on there. 

Rey may be an angry, confused ex. But she's not heartless.

Before she can second guess it, she boards the escalator back down, and he doesn't move an inch, watching as she gets closer and closer until suddenly she's there, right in front of him. She forgot what it felt like to be near him. He says nothing, looking petrified about what she might do, and so she goes for simplicity. Honesty.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

He swallows hard, "I...what?"

"I just. I get the feeling you're not okay." 

He blinks owlishly for a moment. 

"Um, what are you doing at the mall on a Saturday? You hate this place." His eyes dart away evasively.

"I'm trying to find a bridesmaids dress for Jess' wedding. I really left it til the last minute, so I figured I had to go where they had the most options." She gestures around them, and he nods.

She tries again. "And what about you? For a guy who hates crowds I'm surprised to see you here, too."

"Oh, I'm just picking up a suit after having it tailored." 

Rey's heart stutters. He has a million suits for work, bought them all when he first started at the corporate level, and swore he'd never waste his money on any more. Why would he need a new one?

Is he..._is Ben getting married_?

Her chest squeezes.

"What'd you need a new one for?"

There's a long, silent moment. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and Rey watches as his left eye twitches twice. In a croak she can barely hear, he says towards the floor, "My dad's dead."

Rey's heart stutters for an entirely different reason.

Han was sweet to her. Despite his gruff exterior he always had a kind word and a hand around her shoulder whenever she saw him. He wasn't effusive in his praise or his love, but being in his presence gave Rey a deep, and deeply needed, sense of comfort.

"I had no idea." She whispers, and he shrugs.

"He didn't want a big to-do, so my mom didn't really tell anyone."

_I'm not just anyone._

Even after she and Ben split, Han kept tabs on her, took her out for a beer a few times to hear about work and her life on her own. He offered help, of any kind, if she ever needed it. Even as he knew she would never take it. 

"How are you doing?" She asks quietly, not sure he wants to talk about it, but she needs some distraction from her own growing sense of grief, from the tears welling in her eyes.

"How does it look like I'm doing?" He mutters back, and well, he makes a good point. Rey frantically swipes at her cheeks for a moment and sniffs discreetly as her nose begins to run. 

She ignores the instincts blaring at her not to say it.

"Can I hug you?"

Ben glances up, clearly surprised by her request, and spends a long moment considering, then nods. She steps forward, and his arms go around her, hands splayed on her back, one upper and one lower. She presses her fingers into either side of his spine, which always used to make some of the tension bleed out of him.

Now, just like then, as her fingers increase in pressure she feels him melt into her a little bit. He's still wearing the same cologne, using the same detergent, and she sucks in a huge breath of his scent even as she notices how much less muscle she feels on his frame. His cheek presses into the top of her head.

There, on the second floor of the midtown Nordstrom amidst the soft, bland music and the electrical drone of the nearby escalators, Rey completely forgets where she is, lost in the arms of the man she's been desperate for, and desperately angry at, for the past year. 

"I'm sorry no one told you." He mumbles into her hair, and she shakes her head just barely against him.

"It's okay. I'm sorry I wasn't there while he was sick."

"It was fast. A heart attack, a few days in the hospital, continued breathing problems. He was gone before it really sunk in for any of us." She feels Ben heave with a dry sob, and she tightens her grip. "He seemed ready, though."

"There was nothing he wasn't ready for." 

Ben huffs into her hair. "Except for you."

She pulls back a fraction, to look at his face, her brow pinched. "What?"

Ben clears his throat again. No wonder Rey recognized it earlier, she'd forgotten how frequently he does it.

"He was stunned, by you. Stunned that you'd picked me. Stunned by the effect you had on me. On everyone. So headstrong and vibrant. He was proud of you. And determined for you to end up happy. He talked about it, even after you weren't...there anymore." 

Rey feels her throat constrict and her eyes well up again.

_Then why did you take that away from him? And take it away from me?_

She wants to yell, wants to insist on getting some answers, but she knows now isn't the time.

She thinks back on what he said, that Han passed away quickly.

Yet Ben's deterioration looks like it happened over a long, agonizing time. So she swallows down her grief, and her fear.

"Is his death the only thing that's been affecting you lately?"

Ben looks startled, perhaps having forgotten how transparent they often were to each other.

Often, but not always. 

"No." He says, and something in him almost lightens just having uttered that one word. "No, there's been a lot going on with work, bad stuff, and I haven't had much support to...help me get through it, or whatever."

She nods and they both ignore the elephant in the room, the one taking up the entire department store. Rey doesn't want to torture him with her presence or her questions any longer than necessary, so she decides now is a good breaking-off point, and takes a step back.

"Well, if you feel comfortable telling her you ran into me, please pass my condolences onto your mom."

He hums, and put his hands back in his pockets. "And tell Jess congratulations for me."

"I will."

She turns to take the escalator back up, and right as she alights onto the metal step, he says softly, "It's good to see you, Rey."

She turns just long enough to meet his gaze then turns back, heart hammering, and watches as he enters her peripheral vision and gets in line behind two other people, just as she reaches the third floor, and he disappears from her sight.

She finds a few options, but the third floor is positively nuts and there are several women waiting for a dressing room, so she drapes the dresses over her arm and leaves that floor.

One floor down is much quieter, so she gets shown to a little cubicle right away and straps her wedges on.

The first dress is way too big, and Rey didn't realize the second one had that stupid cold shoulder design with the cutouts, so she vetoes that one on principle. The third one though...just might work.

It's a very light color, just bordering on the edge between ballet and blush pink. It's got a wide, square neckline that frames her collarbones and small, fluttery sleeves. The skirt is full and hangs to her mid-calf, the wavy hem swishing around her. She shoves a few pins into her hair, pulling it up the way Jess plans to have them style it, and curses, annoyed at the tendrils falling into her face.

The color of the dress looks a little too washed out. She compares it to the swatch Jess gave each of them, then squints and frowns overhead at the too-bright fluorescent lighting. 

She unlocks the door and steps out of the dressing room, stepping down the long, narrow hall to the three-paneled mirror at the end. A row of skylights high above lends the space some natural light. She finds the dress doesn't look quite so pale out here, and lets out a sigh of relief. 

She turns back and takes three steps towards her room before she hears that throat clear.

_Again_.

Her heart stutters for the fourth time in less than an hour.

There's Ben at the threshold of his own dressing room, five doors down, wearing a slim back suit and white dress shirt. No tie. Seeing something that actually fits him properly makes her aware of how much body mass he's really lost. 

She remembers the energy he used to have, the joy he took in any physical exertion. She thinks of the times they would wrestle on the kitchen floor. When he would gleefully fly up six flights of stairs in a parking garage. The times when he would relish the sweat and the burn of his muscles during sex as much as he relished the pleasure.

Not so much anymore, she guesses. "The dressing rooms upstairs were full." She says, feeling an odd burn of shame.

She bites her lip and waits. It doesn't seem like he's going to respond, so she goes to enter her room again.

"You look beautiful."

She stops in her tracks, peering at him through the gap in the door. His dark eyes slice right through the twenty feet between them; she feels like he's _right there_. She can picture how his breath would feel as it touched the juncture of her neck and shoulder. His gaze is liquid, and, dare she say it, regretful.

"Thanks," she whispers simply, and shuts the door. 

_I need to get out of here._

Go home, lie on the couch in silence, and process this. Process Han's death, too. 

She changes, walks out, and finds the nearest open cashier, over in the Brass Plum section. There's louder music here, and TVs looping music videos in an attempt to lure adolescents. 

Right as the clerk is ringing her up, she reaches out to a nearby rack and snatches a black knit sweater dress, placing it on the counter with her gown.

\--

The morning after the wedding, when everyone else is nursing hangovers and some are opening their eyes to realize exactly whom they spent the night with, Rey slips out of bed, clearheaded if a little tired. She takes a deep breath, questions screaming through her mind, but the resounding echo from every corner of her is_ yes._ She pulls the black sweater dress from her bag.

She exits the hotel without a goodbye to anyone, and shivers at the slight morning chill as she gets into her car.

When she walks into the funeral home, she sees a crowd of maybe thirty people. She recognizes faces from the pictures hung at Han and Leia's house, from the summer barbecues and holiday cards lined up on the mantle.

The service hasn't started yet, but one tall, black-haired figure is already sitting down. He's in the first row of chairs, alone, hands over his knees, the cut of a familiar suit on his body.

She filters through the crowd, unnoticed and unnoticing, and sits down next to him. He glances over and she hears him gasp, but before he can say anything, she slips her hand under his and turns her palm up to intertwine their fingers. 

She stares forward at the closed casket on the platform before them, to make it clear who she's addressing. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere this time. No matter what."

The hand in hers squeezes tighter, and doesn't let go until it's time to give the eulogy. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author alludes to her former life as a resident of the Midwest, and all its attending weather mayhem. 
> 
> Happy holidays, have some fluffy winter nonsense.

Ben's place is a sprawling basement apartment with powerful A/C, which is why Rey spent most weekends parked in his living room. They watched bad action movies and ate flaming hot cheetos with hands held carefully aloft, so as not to stain the cream leather. Eventually, Rey brings over a thrifted tablecloth and drapes it on the sofa for protection, which made Ben feel better.

She spends the first half of the summer that way. They became veritable experts on CGI explosions, and Rey awoke on many a Sunday morning to find her head resting on a throw pillow, while Ben snored nearby in his appropriately Ben-sized bed, his hand somehow still hanging off the edge. 

Then, Fourth of July happened. Through the drunken haze of boozy popsicles and a smear of blue frosting next to his mouth, he made his usual offer for Rey to stay over on the couch.

But that was not where she ended up.

She opened her eyes to see white sheets and that same blue streak of frosting, on the pillow now instead of his lip.

Turns out the Ben-sized bed is also Ben+Rey-sized.

His folded American flag bandanna was sliding off his head. Her red tank top and cutoffs were tangled in the comforter near their feet. She squirmed, feeling the sibilant drag of the cotton against her bare, sunburned skin, and his eyes fluttered open, locked onto hers, and drank her in. 

The second half of the summer was not like the first.

It was like flipping a switch, the way they went from nothing to everything: holding hands, and rampant desire, and talking about their hopes for the future. It hit them like a tidal wave, and at times Rey feels overwhelmed. But every time it becomes too much, he slides a hand over her lower back at a party, or she swipes some hot sauce off his chin while they eat in front of the TV, and it feels so normal, so right, that it eases that chaos crowding into Rey's brain.

Then the seasons change. And suddenly a basement apartment is the last thing anyone wants.

Thankfully Rey's apartment is on the fourth floor and has an antiquated but effective system of steam heat. A burning hot steam pipe runs up through one corner of her living room, and while its presence looms with the constant threat of horrifying injury if it were touched, it radiates enough to keep every inch of her little one-bedroom place at least 70 degrees. Her building may be at huge risk of collapse: built in 1904 with minimal upgrades to electricity or plumbing since then, the power may go out when she and her neighbor Finn both turn their microwaves on at the same time, but goddamn it: it's warm.

Right as the local news is issuing an anti-travel advisory for the entire city of Minneapolis, her phone buzzes.

"I'm coming over. My apartment is freezing and I'm lonely and bored and we already got an email telling us all to work from home tomorrow."

He sounds furious, which Rey knows is the way his every hint of anger manifests, even if he's only slightly annoyed. Expressing the finer shades of negative emotion is something Ben's still learning. 

"Okay," she glances out the window at the rapidly piling snow. "I just got groceries and finally guessed the password to Rose's Hulu account, so should be a fun night."

Ben snorts into the phone. "Was it something about Hux?"

"Yes. OrangeWonder23, which is the nickname I gave him when they first met, and then the digits of her birthday." 

"My girlfriend, the code breaker." She hears the sudden static of the wind as he steps out the front door of his building. Rey knows it's so cold his phone battery will likely die from exposure on the walk over, so she sings brightly, "See you soon!"

Uptown isn't that large of a neighborhood, so when half an hour passes and Ben still hasn't arrived, Rey glances out the window with worry. The snow is reaching even higher, she can see it's passed the wheel wells of every car on the street, so she tries to concede that the necessary marching/tromping probably slowed him down.

Nevermind that Ben's legs are longer than the Mississippi, and she's seen him walk through snow before, strolling like it was effortless while she sweated and raised her knees past her hips. 

She tries to send him a text, but gets no response, and she's sure his battery's pooped out.

When she _finally_ hears her buzzer, she presses "OPEN" within a second, and hears his heavy footfalls through the thin walls as he makes his way up the narrow stairwell.

Relieved, she opens the door, her mouth starting to stretch into a smile.

Then she immediately panics.

His face and the white fingertips of his SmartGloves are soaked in blood. His eyes are owlish with shock.

"Ben!"

"I'm fine," he says from behind his piled scarf, "I swear." She yanks him inside as he explains, "I slipped on some black ice on the way over here, and fucked up my face, and I tried to only bleed onto my coat since it's black, but I had to keep my face inside my scarf to stay warm enough. There was no way to win."

Rey sighs, unwinding his scarf, pulling off his hat to assess the damage. One nostril is still dripping thick, coagulating blood, but his nose isn't broken. There's a deep scrape on his temple, a slightly deeper gash that traverses his right eye and down onto his cheek, and one side of his lower lip is swollen where the impact pushed his teeth through most of the tissue. Thankfully his teeth are intact, and he says his body feels fine. She googles the symptoms of a TBI and runs through a checklist with him, and he says "No" to every one of her questions. She tells him he has to stay awake for a few hours, to be sure he doesn't get confused, get a migraine, or have any visual disturbances, then rushes to get her First Aid kit.

When she returns he's got his coat unzipped. Blood has dripped and smudged down his soft white henley and on the thighs of his khakis.

Since her apartment is so warm, she has no qualms about stripping him to his boxer briefs and his socks. She puts on Bob's Burgers (his favorite), and hopes it distracts him adequately as she cleans the scrape, swiping away a lot of dirt and gravel. She keeps handing him squares of toilet paper to press to his nose, but they get saturated fast, and finally he mutters, sounding plugged up, "Just stick a tampon in it."

She reels back. "What?"

"You know," he gestures with his free hand, "Like in that Channing Tatum movie you liked. With the boarding school and the soccer team. A tampon for nosebleeds."

"_She's the Man_?" Rey asks incredulously. 

"Yeah. Worked for them, right?"

She stares at him for a long moment then scurries to the bathroom, returning with the Playtex Sport box from under the sink. Ben reaches out and Rey pulls it away, unsure.

"Wait, no, I wanna try it."

"Ben, your nostril is not the size of a vagina, you can't just insert it like I would."

"Gimme a purple. Purple is the 'light' type, so those are skinnier than the regular ones." He insists.

Rey doesn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she's impressed he's learned the different colors of tampon.

He arranges it correctly and tries to shoot it up his nose. It emerges about half an inch and then stops. "Ow," he lets out an ungainly snort, which sends Rey into a fit of giggles.

He glares and tries to suppress a smile as he pulls the tampon from the applicator, then delicately wedges it inside his nose. "There. Now move on to that stupid gash, it hurts every time I move my eyebrow."

Rey digs two small butterfly closures from the bottom of her first aid pack and pulls the two sides of the cut together. The cut is widest on his cheekbone, so she places them there, and then cleans and bandages the rest of the cut extending across his face. She retrieves some Ibuprofen and water.

He takes the glass and refuses the medicine.

"Ok, Mr. All-Natural," Rey mutters from the kitchen, putting the pills back into the bottle. 

"I don't need those. Pain is the body's way of telling us something is wrong, and we should listen."

Rey leans against the doorway. "You already know what's wrong, it's literally on your face. The pain signal has done its job."

"Whatever. Enduring the pain will make me stronger."

"What, you trying to gear up for the pain of childbirth or something?"

He sends a half-lidded glance over to her. "Just come watch this with me. I've been through a traumatic evening and as much as I love your witty English banter I'm really not in the mood."

She relents, and pads over to him, allowing him to lay the uninjured side of his face into her lap, and strokes his hair. 

When they go to bed that night the snow has just stopped falling, resting in powdery, rotund swells on top of garbage cans and picnic tables. Burdening the branches of trees and burying the dormant seeds of grass that await the melt and their return to the surface. It smooths the harsh lines and muffles the ever-present noises of the city. From her bedroom window, it feels like the entire world is silent and still. 

They spend the next day in their underwear, eating pancakes and watching fifteen minutes of all sorts of weird shit on Hulu to screw with Rose and Hux's recommendations. 

They make paper garlands for the Christmas tree Ben has promised to buy her, they have sex on the living room rug until Ben complains about his back, and Rey mocks him for being old until he hauls her onto the couch and touches her in a way that shuts her up, fast.

She's looking forward to another day of that when Ben gets an email at ten p.m., just as they're sliding into bed.

"Shit."

"What?" She asks, from the depths of her down feather pillow.

"They've cleared the entrances to the Skyway. We all have to be in for a half-day tomorrow."

Rey groans a wordless, disappointed sound and presses her face into the pillow, yelping when Ben roams his hand under the quilt to smack her butt.

"Guess we just gotta capitalize on the time we have left!" He says cheerily, and Rey laughs, rolling over, both of them fighting with the blankets to find each other. They make out for twenty minutes, and Rey's careful not to suck on his lip too close to where it's injured. When her eyelids start to droop, Ben scoots back, just a fraction, and pulls the quilt all the way up to their noses.

He wakes up to his alarm, gray light filtering through Rey's loosely woven linen curtains. They're avocado green with yellow diamonds. Ben's sure they first adorned some kitchen window in the 1960s, but he remembers the day at the Snelling Avenue Goodwill when Rey found them, looking so delighted, fist clutching the drapes and raised in triumph. Ben didn't have the heart to tell her how hideous they were.

He hits snooze three times, so he'll have to go straight to the office from here, no stopping at home to make his usual french press coffee for the walk. He wants to complain, to whine aloud, but his eyes slide over to Rey's prone form. 

She's nowhere near awake, so he slides out of bed and tucks the quilt around her to seal in his residual body heat.

When he gets to the living room, he encounters a very big problem.

They never washed his clothes.

His shirt and pants, both stained with reddish brown, still sit in a corner near Rey's kitchen. She spot-cleaned his coat, just removing the worst of the dried patches of blood, since you couldn't see the marks left behind against the fabric. His scarf is stiff with it too, and Ben glances at the clock again, cursing every time he whacked that snooze button.

He'll never be able to make it home and still get to work on time. Who knows how long it'll take him to get through the snow, and he'll have to be extra careful, now that his face bears witness to what happens when you're not.

He mulls his options for a long moment.

Mind made up, he tiptoes past Rey's snoring form and slips into her closet.

He doesn't have to look super professional. Ben knows the dress code relaxes when everyone has to contend with the Arctic tundra to make it to the office.

He just has to look...acceptable.

He manages to find an old plaid flannel of his among Rey's blouses. It's truly a hideous burnt orange color, why did he ever buy this?

The lower half of his body proves a little more difficult. 

First he tries her ski pants, which are gray and made that swishy, noisy, water-resistant fabric. The pants look absolutely massive on her, but Ben supposes he doesn't understand the true size differential between them, because when he tries to pull them on, he cant get the waistband past his knees.

Cursing, he turns around. He didn't want to have to do this.

With wary eyes, he opens _the drawer._

Back when they were in college, Rey was a part-time yoga instructor.

Which means she owns a lot of yoga pants. And refuses to throw away the old ones that get stretched out. 

Sometimes very stretched out.

In the way back of the drawer, Ben finds a black pair that are almost cargo-style, with pockets at the hips and two more flap pockets midway down the thigh. They look stretched out.

He sighs, gathers his dignity, and pulls them on, thanking every molecule of spandex that lives within them. 

They fit, not comfortably, and Ben is _mortified_ at the level of detail visible around his crotch from the way they cling, but...they fit. Blessedly, the flannel button-up hangs low enough to cover down to his upper thighs. It's from back in the day when he didn't know how to dress yet, and everything was too big for him, but he momentarily thanks stupid, younger Ben for ever thinking this shirt was a good fit. 

He pulls a maroon scarf from Rey's winter basket on her dresser, borrows a pair of knit mittens, and retreats to the living room to pull on his thick wool socks and Sorels. He tucks the pants into them, and peers, just briefly, into her long mirror by the door. With his hips concealed by the shirt, the extra pants pockets, and his boots and socks lending some normalcy, he almost looks...acceptable. Just what he needs.

He's reaching for the scarf when a scratchy voice mutters, "What?"

He whirls around to see Rey in her bedroom doorway, huge quilt gathered over her head and held under her chin so that only her tiny, sleepy face is visible. 

"What?" He repeats back to her.

"Are you...wearing...you're not wearing my yoga pants." She says like it's ridiculous, one hand emerging to rub her eye.

"We forgot to wash the blood out of my clothes."

Rey blinks a moment longer and he just waits, looking at her. "Oh." She says simply, and he wonders if she still isn't awake. "Hey, turn around."

He furrows his brow at her but she turns her finger slowly, and so he obeys, rotating in a slow circle for her.

While he's facing away, she busts out laughing. "What?" He asks, loud this time, and she's doubled over, a blob cocooned inside her quilt, and she barely manages around her laughter to cackle out, "Look at your ass!"

He crosses to the mirror again and turns around, lifting the tail of the shirt.

It reveals his...his relatively modest butt. The pants cling here too, but instead of revealing any curve they reveal, quite frankly, flatness. 

Ben works out. A lot. Nearly every part of his body is toned and defined.

Butt definition, however, is the proverbial white whale of his fitness efforts. He just can't seem to get it.

Rey's still losing her mind behind him, and he turns to stare at her. When he starts to speak, she lifts one finger, and his words stop short. She gasps, wipes tears from her eyes, and practically screams, "I didn't realize we were having _pancakes_ again today!"

She loses it again at her own joke, and against his every effort, Ben cracks a smile, putting his hands on his hips. "Come on now, it's not that bad."

But he looks back into the mirror and...well...kind of.

"Somebody file a missing persons report..." She dissolves into giggles before she can even finish that one, and a guffaw splutters its way out of Ben's chest as he looks at her.

Eventually she pulls herself together, and remarks that it's amazing any of her clothes fit him, and he regales her with the snow pants attempt. 

He eats a bowl of Cheerios leaning against the counter while Rey leans against him. He gets droplets of milk in his mustache and she kisses them away, then finishes bundling him up.

He was right to give himself extra time. Some of downtown may have been plowed, but they haven't reached Rey's block yet, so he has to walk extra far to find a bus stop that's operational.

When the bus drops him off and he enters the Skyway, it's like the last living outpost in a post-apocalyptic world: the outside gray and lifeless, the inside quietly buzzing with the few businesses crazy enough to be open.

Needless to say, Ben makes it to their floor, and doesn't take his coat off until he's seated at his desk and can leave it bunched around him while he works. Rather than dropping by colleagues' desks to ask a question or offer some information, he calls everyone. 

He makes it to 12:30 without any fuss, and the half day is officially adjourned. He breathes a sigh as he and Hux stand in tandem and prepare to head home.

"Solo," Hux says, trailing off, and Ben turns, "what are you wearing?"

The man is his closest friend at the company, the one with whom he shares an office. Ben knows that honesty is an important foundation to any burgeoning friendship.

"I'm wearing Rey's yoga pants." Ben states baldly, and stares as Hux processes that.

"There's a story here," Hux finally says as he pulls his hat on, "and probably a good one, but I'm determined to get home before the snow starts again, so we'll save your pants adventure for happy hour on Friday, yeah?"

Ben cracks a smile and nods, "Sounds good."

Hux is splitting off to walk to his parking garage when he stops in his tracks and whirls around, "Wait a minute. Rose is blaming me for the Hulu being all fucked up." He narrows his eyes. "Any chance you guys got into our acco-?"

"Goodnight dude!" Ben calls, and steps out onto the frigid sidewalk, hiding his huge grin inside the high pile of Rey's scarf and breathing in her scent. 

When he gets back, he does some theatrically deep lunges, really working the spandex hard. Rey howls with laughter.

He'll wear yoga pants every day just to see her smile like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok 2 things:
> 
> 1\. I stan Ben "always gets food on his face when he eats" Solo, HBU?
> 
> 2\. A few years back I had this type of steam heat, with the legit BOILING pipe tucked up in a corner. It kept my matchbox-size bedroom SO cozy, but I lived in perpetual fear that it was going to bust in the middle of the night and the scalding steam would pour out, fill the room, and disfigure me. Fun!


	4. Chapter 4

"Mr. Solo, how ya feeling about the game tonight?" 

Ben actually smiles, and pauses to stay within the orbit of the microphone for a moment. Mitaka is relatively quiet and reserved for a journalist. He's a fellow Minnesotan. He's never asked Ben invasive questions and when they're fresh off a loss, he leaves him alone entirely. 

"Well man, I can't say I'm not nervous for what we're about to do," Ben glances directly into the camera, "but I'm more confident than I am nervous, and that's all a guy like me can ask for." He scratches his chin. 

"Best of luck to you and the entire team, Solo. Can't help but notice the attention you're drawing to your facial hair at the moment, how do you feel about your teammates' negative comments that you aren't letting it grow despite your victory streak?"

Ben lets out a laugh. "I'd respond by reminding them that my wife hates when I have facial hair at all, let alone if I let this scraggly mess get more than an inch long. They're gonna have to take what they can get."

"Speaking of your wife, has she performed her usual ritual to bring you good luck tonight?" 

Ben lifts his stick, twirling it to show off the tightly wrapped black tape on both the blade and the butt end. "I'd dare any player to find a better wrapped stick in the league." 

Mitaka shares his well wishes once more and then wanders off, and Ben continues on his way towards the bench. As he does, walking as fluidly in his skates as he does on his own two feet, his mind flits through the events of the morning.

Rey's been wrapping his stick before every game since they met. The first time it was because he had a thumb injury, and it tingled and hurt every time he tried to rip a piece of tape. She had walked over to the kitchen island in his crappy college apartment and nudged him out of the way, taking over without a word. Her deft, slender hands got the tape perfectly taut and overlapped it just right. 

Then, fresh off a win three nights later, he asked her tentatively if she might be willing to do it again. It was while she was wrapping his stick that he leaned across the saggy old couch, and they shared their first kiss. It was underneath the loose edge of old tape that he secured her engagement ring when he finally worked up the courage to ask her.

He smiles to himself. Ben feels like his grip on the stick never falters, and each time it contacts the puck, he has so much more control. 

That morning had looked like so many others. Normally he's responsible for the cooking, but on game days he goes through his stretches and then always emerges into the kitchen to find Rey in her pajamas, his identical game day breakfast waiting on the counter. A giant bowl of cheerios topped with sliced banana, three scrambled eggs with cheese, a mild italian sausage, and a glass of orange juice. He sits at the kitchen table, eats, and watches her as she wraps both his game sticks in silence. Fresh tape for every game. She puts them in his bag, kisses him on the forehead, and lets him wrap one long arm around her thigh as he finishes eating. 

From there he'd be out the door, into the car the team sends for him, and he wouldn't see her again until he emerged onto the ice for warm ups. 

Just like now, as he mills around the bench for a moment before clipping his helmet and hopping onto the ice. He skates a slow, wide circle behind the goal as they set out the pucks for practice shots. A roar comes up from the crowd as he goes, but he barely notices, because he's too busy staring at the bright face and the brighter eyes he knows so well. 

That's another thing about Rey. She hasn't missed a single game since they met, either. She's always been there, for every triumph and every defeat. And she's loved him the same through all of it.

She stands as he approaches, and he ices a little as he turns and comes to a stop right in front of her.

She places a hand flat on the glass and yells, "LOVE YOU!" He kisses his fingertips, pressing them to where her open palm rests centimeters away. 

Later that night, he finally gets to kiss her for real, as confetti rains down around them, sticking to the sweat on his face and the tears on hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you can't guess what my favorite sport is


	5. Chapter 5

Kylo can't sleep.

The endless duties and responsibilites of Supreme Leader are getting to him. He's waking up in the night more often than not, remembering a conversation he still needs to have with a certain commander, or realizing why their offensive strategy on a certain planet won't work.

Not only is he overwhelmed, but every moment he's not out there keeping the galaxy running, he's alone. It's been a long six months since Crait, and he sees no one outside the First Order.

Aside from Rey, of course.

The Force bond keeps rearing its insistent head, shoving them together at the most inconvenient times, like right when Ben is returning from a sparring session, drenched in sweat, yet feeling none of his aggression has resolved. Or when Rey has a cold, and they stare at each other while she sneezes pitifully until the Force finally has mercy on her and ends the connection.

They've perfected the art of mostly ignoring each other, choosing to think about other things until they fade from one another's sight. A thousand times Ben has thought of things he wants to say.

But a thousand times, he's found excuses for why he shouldn't.

He tosses and turns for nearly an hour before he finally gives up, reaches for the datapad at the side of his bed. He scrolls aimlessly through dozens of holofilms before tapping over to the "Recent" tab. And there he sees that the next installment in the _Star-Crossed_ series has been uploaded. He's shocked to realize it was released nearly three weeks ago and he hasn't heard a word about it.

Then again, it's not like many of the interactions he has involve friendly small talk.

It's a movie series, surrounding the political intrigue and innumerable power players in a governmental upheaval that took place hundreds of years ago. The costumes, the fascinating information about the historical borders of the Republic at that time, the fierce grappling for control over the galaxy. All if it has billions of viewers riveted, and once a year, they release the next chapter.

It's certainly not the romance between the two central characters, Alden and Koma, that has him hooked. Alden is the rising galactic senator, with misgivings about his government's use of the Force. Koma is a housemaid recognized for her intelligence and tasked with infiltrating a politician's household to gain influence and push a radical peacemaking agenda. He couldn't care less for the lovey dovey subplot, it's plain to anyone with half a brain that such a ludicrous relationship would never work out. Their romance will always be relegated to secret meetings in closets and passionate confessionals in the dark of night, because it would never be acceptable in their world.

He only has so many feelings about that subplot because it's such a ridiculous waste of screentime.

He can see in the little information box that the film is nearly two hours long, and while he knows that means he'll barely catch any sleep after it's over, he can't resist.

The chance to dissociate from his reality for a little while, the chance to become totally immersed in a story that has nothing to do with his life, is too tempting. He rarely gets the opportunity for such an escape.

He rises from bed, not bothering to replace his tunic, and scratches his bare stomach as he makes his way to the sitting room. One tap and the holo projector emerges from the wall, aiming a square of light against the wall as he taps away to queue up the movie.

His fingers hesitate over the datapad for a moment, and then he goes ahead and does it, calling up an order and requesting a droid to deliver it.

Barely five minutes go by before there is a chime at his door, and he crosses to open it, taking the bowl proffered by the droid and muttering a rare, _thank you._ The droid bows in surprise and wishes him a good evening, whirring down the hallway a second later.

He settles into the couch, feet up on the coffee table, and presses play.

The opening credits start, and so do his excitement and anticipation. _Will Alden's father discover that Miro is the one who planted the false evidence to sabotage his senatorial appointment? Will the protests by the populace succeed in influencing governmental decisions despite the fact that the protest movement is fractured across a number of star systems? Will Koma forgive Alden for betraying his own father's administration out of a misplaced sense of revenge?_

Scratch that last one. Kylo doesn't care about that. The opening scene rolls, a rising sun over the packed skyline of the capital city.

And just then, Kylo hears an odd vacuous sound which he knows all to well.

And there, off to the side of the room, Rey appears.

She seems to be swiping through a clunky, older model datapad, and comparing it to a book she holds in her other hand. She's using a bent knuckle to navigate the datapad screen, gaze intent, but as soon as the first swell of music plays, she glances up and takes in the scene before her.

"What are you doing?" She says, brow furrowing, and Kylo tries to imagine the scene from her perspective.

Her nemesis, slumped shirtless on a black leather couch with the hottest new movie queued up. Hair looking wild from hours spent rolling around, stressed, in bed. A huge bowl of popcorn balanced on his bare stomach.

It certainly defies the menacing, ruthless, untouchable reputation he has fought so hard to cultivate.

And it certainly defies where they stood when he last saw her, when she refused his hand and his offer after Crait. He could feel it through the Force, the way they had both spent months resenting each other from lightyears apart.

Now, here she is.

He panics for a moment, wondering if he were to just stand up and return to his bedroom if she would let it go, let him go, and say nothing. But it's too late, he's rooted to the spot by the directness of her gaze.

She looks at him for only a moment, and she looks furious. But then her eyes trace his body, slowly, lingering on every plane and angle. He looks away, a flush coloring his cheeks, which he prays she can't see in the dark.

He dares not look at her until she speaks. And when she does, her fury is gone.

"Is that...popcorn?"

It's the last thing he expected her to say, but she's staring at the bowl in his lap, eyeing it hungrily.

"Uh, yes. It is."

"Wouldn't have expected the First Order to serve something so...frivolous." She accuses, and snaps shut the book in her hand.

_Kriff_, he thinks, _she's expecting a conversation._

"We serve everything here." He explains, and she rolls her eyes, tossing the book down and it vanishes, landing in some unseen place on her end of the connection.

"Of course you do. No indulgence spared for those terrorizing the galaxy."

He wants to retort but bites it back, glaring at her. She stares at him a moment longer and then folds her arms around her datapad casually, jutting a hip out and tilting her head. "So the Supreme Leader is still somewhat human under all of that power and bluster, hm?"

He shakes his head, crossing his own arms in response, and mutters, "What?"

"Staying up late watching movies, eating snacks that are bad for him. 'The most powerful man in the galaxy, he's just like us!'" She sings it like it's on the cover of a tabloid, the tiniest grin creeping onto her face, and he huffs. He's never enjoyed jokes being made at his expense.

"You don't know what you're talking about." He says under his breath, and she takes a step closer.

"Oh really? Because it looks to me like the pressures of running an empire you forcibly stole may be taking a toll on you, and now it looks like you're making an effort to distract yourself."

He grasps for a response, then settles, lamely, on "Everyone needs their outlets."

"And destroying control panels with your saber wasn't doing it for you anymore?"

Gods, how is she always ready with a cunning barb? He gapes in frustration, but she's not done.

"I'm just saying, a lot of people would be shocked to see you doing something almost...normal."

He gives in to her jibes with a sigh. _"Almost_ normal?" He queries.

"You're lacking an alcoholic beverage. That's what would really make you look like the commonfolk."

Wordlessly, he takes his bare feet off the low table and points a single finger in the direction of the green Sacrian liquor in a low glass with ice.

"I stand corrected." Rey breathes, and turns away from him a little, as though wondering how long this idiotic interaction will last.

Suddenly the characters on screen start talking, strolling down the dark arched corridor of some senatorial building, and Kylo hears Rey gasp.

"Is this the new chapter of Star-Crossed?" Her eyes light up as they dance around the scene.

"Yes."

"It got released?"

"Yep. A while ago. How did you not know?"

"The latest films are not really a high priority for The Resistance." She goads, and Kylo supposes he should have anticipated that.

"Fair enough."

They lapse into silence as Alden speaks to one of this father's aides, and when Kylo glances back over, her arms have gone slack, datapad hanging from one hand. He can see how rumpled her clothes are. Her hair's in disarray, her arm wraps are askew, and she looks exhausted.

He thinks back to Crait for a moment. How he would have said anything, done anything, just to keep her in his line of sight. To keep her truly, and tangibly, in his presence.

Only he didn't know what to say. And he didn't know what to do.

"Do you want to stay and watch it?" He mutters, before some other part of his brain can stop him.

She looks sharply over at him, as though evaluating his tone and his wording and his underlying motives, then finally nods, and takes a spot on the far end of the couch.

As the story unfolds, they begin lowly murmuring comments to one another, about story twists they do or don't like, actors they find especially compelling.

At one point, Kylo places the bowl of popcorn between them, sliding it gently over to her, and he's not at all surprised when she digs a hand deeply into it and proceeds to fit as many kernels into one mouthful as she can.

A few minutes later, he reaches into the bowl only to find her hand is already there. Their fingers brush, and he hears her tiny intake of breath, only a few feet away from him.

His gaze latches onto her, but her own eyes remain stubbornly, defiantly on the screen. However her fingers reach further into the bowl, seeking out and tracing, gently, his palm.


End file.
